


Pick Who Dies

by BrokenKestral



Series: Whumptober2020 [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Buried Alive, Choices, Friendship, Gen, Manhandling, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26814106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenKestral/pseuds/BrokenKestral
Summary: A battle, a triumph, a choice - one of the triumvirate has been chosen to die, but which one? Inspired by Whumptober2020.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock
Series: Whumptober2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1970584
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	1. Pick Who Dies

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is my first time writing Star Trek: TOS (or Star Trek in general!), so my apologies for any roughness. Especially since it’s from Spock’s perspective; I’d probably find Dr. McCoy easier. Now, on to the whump!

**Whumptober2020 Prompt 2: In the Hands of the Enemy**

**“Pick Who Dies”**

We were held captive by the hands of the enemy, and they had not been gentle. It’s fortunate for me that Vulcans do not allow pain to disrupt their abilities.

My companions were not so fortunate. I glanced through the metal bars to check their separate cells. (It is logical to be aware of the status of one’s teammates.) Neither one had awoken.

This particular away mission had been described as “routine,” a check to see why the natives of the planet had lost 69.3 percent of their population. However, the instant the teleportation beam had dispersed Doctor McCoy and the Captain had been rendered unconscious by blows to the head. My reflexes were swift enough I avoided the blow aimed at my head, but I had not been able to save the others from the ambushing party of 23 Merretorians. Their combination of six lengthy appendages, to be used as needed as either arms or legs, and their spherical, rolling shape, made their speed and strength formidable, either as fighters or information obtainers. 

They had interrogated me separately, and then placed me in this cell, made with one wall of stone and three of a substance I believe the humans labeled “tungsten.” My two crewmates were across the hallway in two other cells made, presumably, from the same metal. It resisted every attempt to bend it apart. 

I checked the status of my crewmates again. Both remained unconscious. Doctor McCoy’s breathing was 15.6 percent shallower than his average, and the trickle of blood near his ear did not help his increasing paleness. The Captain’s shirt had somehow been torn from wrist to shoulder on the left side, and a blackening patch of skin approximately 4.5 inches in diameter appeared just above his forearm, but no other damage was indicated. However, his continued stillness indicated a more severe injury. 

I tested the bars again. Though of course, as a scientist, I wished to find the answer to the recent population decrease, I did not wish for either member of the away team to learn through personal experience. Or through neglect.

The bars did not budge. I pulled harder, until the circulation in my fingers had decreased over the acceptable 50 percent. 

It was at that moment I heard footsteps. I ceased from my attempts at once, standing at rest. I observed six Merretorians rolling down the circular-shaped hallway, their blue color pulsing as each appendage struck the ground. Four wore the red sash that our files recorded as belonging to their elite warrior class, with shrinking spears held in the sashes. These four stood guard outside my door. The other two opened the cell doors of the Captain and Doctor McCoy. The two extended three arms each, grabbing my teammates by their shoulders and the tunic at their necks, dragging them through the doorway and up the stairs. A deep anger stirred within me, and I calmed myself. Now was not the time.

Doctor McCoy would disagree. I would endeavour to make sure we could have that discussion later. And I would succeed. 

The last sounds of feet thumping on stone stairs faded, and the elite pulled slender sticks from their sashes. The sticks instantly unfolded to a height of seven feet, the silver spearheads reflecting the torchlight. One unlocked the cell door, the second slipped in to stand behind me, and the other two leveled their spears. “Walk,” the one holding the door commanded. “It is time for you to join the game.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Games are most illogical for adults.” I moved forward, however, as logic also dictated there was a high probability I would be taken to the same place as the others. 

I was. The Captain and the Doctor had been chained to the walls above the sandy floor of a space resembling Earth’s old amphitheaters. The stone ledges were full of spectators. The two Merretorians who had dragged them out were currently emptying a large vase of liquid on them, and both men woke up sputtering. I do believe the Doctor was cursing, and the Captain began demanding the meaning of their actions. Both were cut off with a sharp slap across the face. 

The two elite warriors in front of me turned. “The games begin,” said the one who’d spoken before, and his companion rolled swiftly twice before turning to face me. The elite who spoke handed me a spear.

I looked from the spear to my opponent. Their nervous system glowed an infinitesimally darker color than the rest of their body. “Vulcans do not fight with such weapons,” I informed them, letting the spear fall to the ground. 

“Spock, you green-blooded pacifist, take the weapon!” I tuned out the Doctor, and the Captain. Their advice would not be given in time to do me any good. The warrior rushed forward, spear extended, but his rolling pace made it easy to dodge, and I extended a hand as he went by, touching the nervous system and commanding him to sleep. The sphere of his body collapsed halfway, like a bowl filled with glowing blue water, and I turned to face the one who spoke.

“A formidable warrior,” he called to the crowd, raising his voice. 

“Two to one! Two to one! Two to one!” came the call from the dips in stone where the Merretorians sat. Anticipating their next moves, I turned to face the warriors behind me. Logically, I should be able to predict their moves, having studied their military history—

And they tried flanking me, using the length of the spears as bludgeons. It was a simple matter to twist the handle of one away, pulling it closer, and sending him to sleep. The other sphere caught my waist, and I am ashamed that I did not immediately counteract the pain. I fell to the sandy floor, and realised I did not have time to raise myself up and put him to sleep, not before he rolled closer. And there he was, lifting the sphere above my presumably helpless form, well within reach of my arm. His spear fell with a soft thud onto the sand as he, too, slept. 

Provided with ample time to get to my feet, I stood, removing the sand from my hands. I looked to the warrior who announced the events.

“You have fought well, brave warrior, and won a prize!” He raised two appendages on the top of his circular form. 

“Get off me, you glowing ball!” and “Let go at once,” made me look quickly to the wall. The keepers of my crewmates had detached the chains from the wall and were dragging both men directly towards us. Eight hands pressed the Doctor and Captain to their knees. 

“Captain,” I acknowledged. 

“Spock, are you all right?” 

“I am relatively undamaged, Captain.”

“Undamaged, my foot. I saw that wooden sticker strike your side, Spock, and Vulcan physiology or no, just wait till I get you back to medbay, I’ll-”

“Cease,” the warrior commanded. I looked back at him. “You have won a prize. Pick one.” 

“Pick one for what purpose?” The sounds of the crowd had quieted, and their silence was the silence of the anticipation of blood. 

“One is your prize, and his life will be yours. The other’s life is ours. Pick one to live,” the warrior finished, “and one to die.”

“That’s barbaric,” Doctor McCoy interrupted, and Vulcan or no, I could not deny the dread that stirred within me. For his voice was cut off by the Captain’s, and to lose either voice was not a death I could face with equanimity. Yet logic did not give me a solution here.

“Enough, Bones. You, people of Merrgorgatha! Is this your world? Your life? Your sport? Look at yourselves! You’re dying! The number of your race is falling!” I looked at him. Even on his knees, Captain Kirk—Jim—commanded their attention. A blazing spirit with a mind to match. 

Yet beside him, nodding as he listened, knelt the Doctor. His compassion, his intelligence, and his passion saved the Enterprise’s crew as regularly as the sun set above Vulcan. He was the third portion of our balance, and without him I did not doubt both the Captain and I would quickly burn out. To lose him was to lose us all. 

I could not lose either. I looked to the Captain, hoping he would have a plan, but his impassioned speech met with jeers, and his guard reached down with one appendage to pick up a spear and dig it into his throat. The jeers turned to cheers. 

“Choose.”

I must think. I must think. 

“Spock, I order you to choose me.” The Captain looked at me sharply. “It’s a Captain’s duty to protect his men. I order you to choose me.”

“It’s Spock’s duty to protect the Captain, Jim. We both know he’s going to choose you.” 

“Spock —”

Options. We could not run, not with chains. We had no communicators to call the Enterprise. I could not fight off the remaining three before the spear pierced my Captain’s throat. And I could not offer my own life instead, for that would be a weakness in a warrior culture, and all three of us would instantly be killed.

I could only save one. 

A First Officer’s duty is to keep his Captain safe. Logic, and the oaths I had taken, dictated my choice. The Doctor had been right. But this —this was an impossible choice.  I looked to McCoy. 

He saw the look—he who had always insisted I had more humanity than I showed —and he understood it, for he smiled. “It’s all right, Spock. It’s the  _ right _ choice.” 

“Spock, I  _ order  _ you-”

“I choose the Captain,” and I gestured to him. The Merretorian behind him lifted him easily to his feet and shoved him forward, and the elite turned towards the Doctor.

“Then his life is ours.”


	2. Manhandled and Forced to Their Knees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I’m pretty sure I covered two of these prompts in the last chapter, and modified the third to Held at Spearpoint - which, why is it called Gunpoint when guns don’t have actual points? Spearpoint actually makes sense...but I’m pretty sure it’s called a speartip and not a spearpoint. English is weird.)

**Whumptober2020 Prompt 3: My Way or the Highway**

**Manhandled / Forced to Their Knees / Held at Gunpoint**

“We have our seventh sacrifice! Tonight,” the warrior’s voice carried through the amphitheater, “the weak are destroyed by the hands of the strong!” The crowd roared, their spherical shapes rising into ovals and each waving six appendages in the air. But one word in that declaration caught my attention. The elite warrior turned back to the three of us. “Take the warrior and his prize to their holding cell. Prepare the one whose life is ours.” Captain Kirk lunged forward, and I followed. A touch sent one of McCoy’s guards to sleep, but the other managed to knock the Captain on the head with the spear, and the Captain fell. Doctor McCoy reached for him, calling his name, and more Merretorians began appearing, teleporting in. We could not fight them all. I ceased, allowing the new elite warriors to force me to my knees beside my Captain and my friend. The announcer rolled slowly toward us. 

“You have rebelled against our decision-”

I interrupted before it could pronounce a sentence. I needed to buy us time. “Your culture now glorifies the strong using their strength to accomplish what they want. We desired the life of our friend, and we fought to save it. In your culture’s eyes, is this not laudable?” 

The announcer halted. I could not have perceived its thoughts more clearly than if I had been mentally linked to it. There were too many guards for it to deny its philosophy, and it had no reason to wish us dead, but that we had shown ourselves to be strong. “Your actions were according to your desires, and will not be punished. Our plans for this evening, however, will continue.” It paused, perhaps wishing me to object, and to give it reason to punish. I merely waited. “Away with them for now.”

I looked at the Doctor. “Till tonight, Doctor McCoy.”

He looked up from where he’d been examining Jim’s head. “It’s all right, Spock.”

“Indeed, Doctor, I merely wished to say I will be  _ disappointed _ when you miss your check in.” I allowed the faint emphasis on the word I would never use, counting on the Doctor to count it out of place and look for a hidden meaning. If he did nothing to anger the Merretorians and he survived till tonight, it was entirely probable a rescue would be underway. And from his raised eyebrow, I concurred he understood. “I will care for the Captain.” I promised as the guards pulled the Doctor back from us, roughly dragging him across the sand.

“Keep his head elevated,” the Doctor called as the warriors began to drag him away. “And don’t let him get hit there again, twice is pushing it even for his stubborn cranium!” 

I picked the Captain up. It was logical to assume the Merretorians would let me, as he was my “prize,” and indeed they did. They led us, not back to the cells, but to a spherical room where the entire floor was covered with soft and colourful material. Most illogical, though that was not my present concern. There were excessively large items resembling pillows, round and with dents in the middle, scattered about the floor, and the walls were covered with a light blue, aesthetically pleasing material as well. 

“For the warrior to rest,” the guards informed me. I walked inside and they shut the metal door after me, a large bar thudding into place on the outside. 

As prisons went, it was much preferable to the barred cells. I could only hope Doctor McCoy was being held someplace as restful. I lowered the Captain to the floor and tore off a bit of the closest pillow, folding it to rest under his head and keep it elevated. I examined the walls, and found them to be immovable stone behind the cushioning material. The door allowed no exit either. 

There was nothing to do but meditate. I welcomed the reprieve and sank into a shallow meditative state that allowed me to keep an eye on the Captain.

It was 4.73 standard hours before he began to rouse. Fully aware that I had disobeyed his orders, and he would doubtless exhibit the very human behavior of anger driven by fear, I had made myself calm. I reached forward and caught him when he began to rise, as his equilibrium might not be fully functional. 

“Where are we?” he asked, putting a hand over his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“In a cell six hundred and twenty meters from the amphitheater.” 

He looked up quickly. “Doctor McCoy?”

“He is being held separately until tonight.” 

“But he is alive.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“And awaiting a rescue.” Captain Kirk looked around the cell. 

“The walls are solid, and the door is barred by something too large to move, Captain. However, as our communicators are missing, all three of us will be unable to complete the check in in the next seventeen minutes and twenty seconds-”

“And Scotty should beam us back.” The Captain pulled himself slowly to his feet, beginning to pace around the cell. 

“Our life signs should be easily distinguishable from those of the Merretorians.” 

“But you didn’t know that would happen, did you?” The Captain turned towards me, and I put my hands behind my back, coming to attention.

“I did not.”

“I gave you a specific order, First Officer Spock, and I expect my orders to be obeyed.” 

“My first duty, Captain, is to the Starfleet. Regulation states-”

“I know what the regulations say, Spock!” He began pacing again. “But if he’d died-”

“Then he would have died doing his duty, and he would have died for a friend. Doctor McCoy would say the second was the most important.” 

The Captain paused. “He would, wouldn’t he. Well, we’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t come to that. Mister Spock, if there is no way out by the wall or the door, what do you think our chances are with the ceiling?”


	3. Caged, Collapsed Building, AND Buried Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Yeah, I thought this one was actually the one on day five, where one of the words is “Rescue.” That would have been perfect. That would have made everything easy. But guess what? That’s day five. And I already posted day three, where I promised to have this done Sunday, so there went my planned story out the window! Let’s see what happens now! And just to spite it, I’m going to try to use all three prompts. Ha. Take that. 
> 
> WARNING: there are aftereffects of cruel treatment shown within this chapter, as well as peril. Please do not read it if it upsets you. 

**Whumptober2020 Prompt 4: Running Out of Time**

**Caged / Buried Alive / Collapsed Building**

“I think, Captain, our most logical course of action would be to wait.” 

“I don’t like the idea of depending on Mr. Scott when Bones is still in danger,” Kirk responded sharply. 

I refrained from further comment. Ingenuity and stubbornness were character traits that made Kirk a successful starship captain, and it would be illogical to regret their presence in the present moment.

Furthermore, he was correct about Doctor McCoy. 

“The ceiling should be accessible if you were to climb on my back, Captain. However, I would appreciate it if you refrained from falling. Doctor McCoy was most strident in his instructions to keep your head from further damage.” 

Captain Kirk laughed, hoisting himself up onto my back as I pent down. I straightened as much as I could and moved towards the wall. “Bones would diagnose the neighboring patient’s problems if he was on his deathbed.” He reached up and touched the ceiling where it joined to the wall. “It’s quite soft.” I heard a ripping sound, and the Captain’s foot dug into my back as he shifted his weight. Very soon white dust and a substance somewhat similar to “straw” began falling around my head. “We can get through, Mr. Spock.” Both feet dug further into my back —a most uncomfortable situation—before the Captain’s weight vanished altogether. I straightened and looked up. The upper half of the Captain had vanished through a rough hole, and as I watched his black-clad legs and feet began wriggling around, attempting to get purchase.

Humans were so illogical. And we must reach Doctor McCoy  _ quickly _ . We did not know the Merretorians’ plans for him, but logic dictated they would be unpleasant. I reached upwards and put my hands underneath the Captain’s feet, pushing. He pushed against my hands and disappeared a moment later; I jumped and caught the edge of the wall. With Vulcan strength it was an easy matter to lift myself gracefully through, and drop down to join the panting Captain.

“Thank you, Mr. Spock. Shall we move on?” As we walked away he glanced back. “I wonder why our hosts don’t reinforce their prisons better.”

“Warriors’ quarters, Captain. I do not believe their spherical shapes are conducive to stacking. Such a method would not occur to them.”

“Ah.” The Captain increased his stride, a fast pace he adopted only when intent on danger. Or rescue. I did not object. 

At that pace, we excited the space with metal doors in 45 seconds. There were no Merretorians in any of the circle-shaped halls, either guarding or walking, though we edged around every adjoining hallway as a precaution. Outside of the sandy amphitheater or the unpleasant prisons, the Merretorians appeared to thoroughly enjoy comfort, and their soft floors muffled our footsteps — and the movements of any of our captors.

“I believe we should follow the hallways with the larger doors, Captain. I have observed that the Merretorians give great architectural weight to  _ size _ , not unlike humanity in its early settling stages. The Pyramids of Egypt, for example-” 

“All right, all right, Mr. Spock, we’ll take your suggestion. But do you think they keep their prisoners in those areas?”

I did not particularly want to correct him, but it is the Vulcan way to tell the truth. “The elite warrior called him one of seven sacrifices. Such a practice is new to their world, but I do believe, from the crowd’s reaction, the sacrifices are believed to be of great importance.”

“Sacrifices?” Captain Kirk paused, staring at me. “Barbaric.” 

“Indeed. But many pre-enlightened cultures are.”

“We are getting Bones out of here. Now.” He began walking even faster than before, and I wished to offer that human idea of “reassurance.”

“Even if we do not find the Doctor, I believe our communication devices and phasers will be stored in the more important areas.”

“Which would allow us to contact the ship, and locate Doctor McCoy with the ship’s scanners.” 

The Captain had a pleasing habit of grasping the logic within suggestions quickly. However, logic did not always equate with results, particularly when wandering around a seemingly deserted building half the size of the  _ Enterprise _ . We did not find the communicators, or anything but large, empty rooms. 

“Look at this, Spock.”

“I believe that is what they eat. It’s a gelatinous substance made of minerals and water, which they absorb-”

“Perhaps another time, Mr. Spock.” The Captain set the bowl and drinking straw back down. “It’s still half full.”

“It appears they left in a hurry, Captain.”

“Yes, but I want to know  _ why _ . Could this be a part of why their civilization, planet-wide, is dying?” 

“Their sacrifices and battles would be enough to accomplish 43 percent of that without help.”

The Captain grimaced. “But what started the sacrifices and the battles?”

“I do not know.” 

He stood, looking around the room. I had already observed, and could perfectly recall, all the scattered or organised contents. It had been a wealthy family who lived in these quarters, judging by the opulence and varying colors of the soft tapestries, the gold bowls and straws, and the breadth of the large room. 

It was at that moment that I heard the muffled sound of movement from the hall outside, and I grabbed the Captain and tugged him down to one side of the door. He tensed, accustomed to these situations, and both of us waited, listening. The curtain over the door lifted itself into the ceiling a moment later, and a Merretorian rolled in, heading immediately for the table. From behind, I observed several dents in its shell, and all the appendages had veins that were noticeably darker than the rest of the blue body. Doctor McCoy would have diagnosed it with malnutrition the instant it came in, and would have snuck up behind it to hypo it with a mixture of minerals and a sedative. 

His compassion went beyond logic. But it was one of the reasons he was a skilled physician, and his sedative would have been quite useful. 

The Captain nodded at me, and we both moved quietly forward, flanking it. It had rolled right to the bowl, opening a part of its outer shell around the straw, and began sucking in the gelatinous fluid quite quickly. The Captain glanced at me and I nodded. I was ready.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded sharply. The Merretorian squealed, a high-pitched noise worse than the wail of a human infant, and rolled itself into a shivering ball. It clutched itself with all six appendages, staying in one corner, since we stood between it and the door.

“I just want the food! The food! And maybe a few things to live on! I swear, o gods, I did not mean to come between you and your sacrifices!” 

“We are not gods,” I pointed out. “We are aliens on your planet.” Surely those facts were obvious to any thinking being. 

The Merretorian uncurled its arms, and appeared to consider us. “You are the warrior and his prize.” The Captain frowned at that, but I saw no reason not to acknowledge the actual events on this planet. 

“That is correct.”

“What are you still doing here?”

“Enough of your questions, where is Doctor McCoy, and why is everyone gone?” the Captain cut in sharply, and the Merretorian quivered, two of appendages wrapping around itself again. 

“We felt the ground quiver beneath our feet, and the wrath of the gods always follows. We left the seven sacrifices here to appease their wrath, but if we stay, we’re told the wrath of the gods will take us as well. But I was so hungry!” One of the appendages not curled around itself stretched towards the bowls still behind us. “I thought, if everyone left their food, I could just come and get some.”

Captain Kirk glanced at me. “I believe this planet has tectonic plates, Captain. On Earth their movements were stabilized, but here-”

“They still cause destruction.”

“I believe so, Captain. Though there is no prior record of it happening.”

“The elite say the gods are angry!” Four of the limbs wrapped around the quivering sphere. 

“So you fight for them, and sacrifice to them,” Kirk finished, a hint of anger in his tone. 

“We do not want them to rip the planet apart! There are monsters in the heavens, monsters ready to eat us if the sky were not between us!” 

But my attention had moved forward, and I grabbed the Captain’s arm. “If the quivering comes before the quake, and the sacrifices are left here, Doctor McCoy could be in danger.” The Captain whirled towards the Merretorian. 

“Where are the sacrifices kept?”

“In the cages under the gods’ battling area!”

“The amphitheater,” I put in.

“And where is that?”

“Down the hall that way, to the right, and then the tunnel leads right towards it!” The Captain began running and I followed. I did not stop to ask the Merretorian how one got from the amphitheatre to the cages; I was sure I could recall the way.

And I could. There were seven openings into the sandy floor, and we had been brought up the one 6 centimeters smaller than the rest. That tunnel led directly to the cages, rows upon rows of them, but six were lit by the faintly glowing blue light of Merretorians, and the Doctor would be with them. 

I did not see any unlocking mechanisms in the entrance, but perhaps the cage could be opened from the outside. We ran for it, I arrived just before the Captain, and I went straight to examine the door, though I listened carefully.

“Bones?” the Captain panted. I heard him grab the cage bars. The door appeared to be fused to its frame. There must be a way to unfuse it. “Bones!”

“Jim?” The Doctor’s voice was slurred, half awake, and I took a moment to examine him. Within seconds I was attempting to rip the door from the frame. Both his arms were bent at angles that indicated they were broken, half his face was covered in drying blood, and the other sported a darkening flesh around the eye. White bone jutted out above one ankle, and he was  _ caged _ , and we could not get to him, to relieve his pain. 

“That’s it, Bones. That’s it. I’m right here. We’re getting you out.” I returned my attention to the door; it was the only way through to the Doctor. Apparently the side I had been examining was not the side that opened, but the other side had a series of tiny latches between the frame and the door itself that required an unlocking mechanism. And from behind me I heard the Captain ask the question that I, as a Vulcan, should not dread. “Spock?”

“I cannot open it, Captain.” 

“There must be a way! We’ve got to get to Bones!” Instead of answering I tested my strength against the bars again, both on the door and on the cage walls. I could not move them. The Captain looked around, and I hoped—as illogical as it might sound, but the Captain’s ability to turn the smallest of things into a means of salvation led to hope being a logical response—he would find something, but when he looked back at me, I knew he had not. Both of us turned to the man in the cage. 

“The green-blooded hobgoblin with ya?” And there was his voice change, what those on earth referred to as a “Southern Accent.” It was not a good sign. 

“I am here, Doctor McCoy.” I was a Vulcan, and I  _ would _ be calm. 

“I thought Vulcans were peaceable folk,” he slurred. “An here ya are, a warrior.”

“Presently, Doctor, I am not fighting anyone, but attempting to find a way into your cell.” The Doctor snorted. 

“Scotty’ll be beaming us out soon, an’ ya won’t have to.” 

It is the Vulcan way to speak the truth. “We should have been beamed out 6 minutes ago, Doctor, just after the Captain and I entered the cages. I believe the minerals in the rock above the cages may interfere with the ship’s scanners.”

“Then one of us has to go back outside, and return with a phaser and a security detail,” Captain Kirk put in. Neither of us would leave the Doctor alone in his present condition, but I knew both of us would wish to stay. It would not be in keeping with my oath to Starfleet to leave the Captain down here to face danger alone. And my greater strength had a higher probability of removing the Doctor from his confinement, but I knew the Captain would disagree. 

Before we could state our cases, however, the ground underneath us  _ lurched _ , pushing both the Captain and myself into the bars. I caught him before he could hit his head, ignoring the pain from the elbow I’d used to cushion it. I glanced at Doctor McCoy—both his eyes had opened—and looked around.

The ground moved again, rising up underneath us, and the Captain and I dropped. On the ground, I caught the sound of creaking. It came from overhead. I reached out and grabbed the Captain. I rolled us towards the cage side, hoping it would support enough of the cave roof, and glanced through to see if I could pull Doctor McCoy closer.

He was too far, and he couldn’t move. I stuck one foot between the bars and wrapped both hands around it, pressing the Captain and myself against it, and deep within the human part of me, I  _ hated _ that I was leaving Doctor McCoy to face the danger alone again. My first choice led to this, and I hated it, with all my half-human soul, before my Vulcan mind reasserted itself, and left me ashamed. 

We rode the quake out, my focus going more and more to dull the pain from my elbow as I kept us near the bars. When the ground finally stilled, I let go but did not move. I was listening. 

And I heard it again. The groaning of stone cracking, jostling, falling, the sound of an avalanche. Moments later the ceiling fell, and all I could hear was the roar, and all I could feel was the stones hitting me, and the Captain trying to move from underneath me. I did not let him. One of us would survive this. 

And I could not stop my brain from running through the options, seeing if there had been any way there could have been two. Whether I could have saved the Doctor as well. 

When the pain finally stopped, there were two large rocks resting on my leg and on my shoulder, judging by the pressure. And I was alive. The odds of that were small enough I knew I would be running the probability matrix latter, and it would yield fascinating results. 

But that was for later. Now, I tested moving myself, pushing up, and I collapsed, my elbow snapping under the pressure. I breathed. And breathed again. There was no pain. 

“Spock, don’t move. I’m going to get out from under you.” Logic did dictate the crew member who was more whole should do the moving. Though the unpredictableness of the Captain and a delicate rock formation should prove an interesting combination. I gave our survival a 42.6 percent chance as the Captain’s torso moved out from under me, pushing rocks off as he went.

I gave the doctor a 12.4 percent chance. I had to ask. “Captain, do you see the Doctor?” The Captain stopped moving.

“No,” and his voice was subdued. “Spock—he had to survive all that. He’s still under there, buried alive, and  _ we’ll get him back. _ ”

I did not answer. 

“One of the sides of the cage is down, we can get to work rescuing him as soon as we’re clear ourselves.” 

A 12.4 percent chance. It was still a chance. 

“I can get up,” I heard the Captain say, and as his legs disappeared from under me—dragging painfully along my ribs on the way out—I collapsed onto the ground. 

And it was then, with my head on the ground close to my fingers, that I saw my fingers begin to disappear in a familiar yellow light. 

_ Of course _ , I thought as my fingers reformed on the transporter pad. The removal of the stone above us meant the  _ Enterprise _ ’s scanners could locate us. I shoved myself up on one arm, looking around, to see Captain Kirk, covered in dust, already sharply ordering sickbay to the transporter room, and there, on the pad, was Doctor McCoy. I moved over to him, putting two fingers beneath his ear to check his pulse.

It was still beating. 

He was still alive. 

The  _ Enterprise _ defied the odds, again and again. Nurse Chapel came rushing in the room and I moved away, listing the injuries I’d observed to her as I did, and helping move Doctor McCoy to be transported to Sickbay. Someone, unfortunately, noticed my arm, and I was required to go to Sickbay as well. I waited, listening to the Captain ordering an armed team down to the quake site to see if any of the other sacrifices survived, and also ordering a planetary quake expert to be assigned to this planet to see if they could teach the race about the fault lines before the race extinguished itself. 

At that point I pointed out that his presence was required in Sickbay just as much as mine was, and that he could log his report there, after both of us had been seen to. “And we could also check on Doctor McCoy,” I added quietly, knowing that would convince him. 

It was indeed his first question upon entering, and we found that, though there was severe internal bleeding, he had been stabilized, and already his bones were being reknit. Doctor M’Benga predicted an order of three days of bedrest, though he doubted Doctor McCoy would stay in bed for more than one. I did not disagree. At that point the nurses, trained by their CMO to be as demanding and authoritative as he was, had pushed us into our own beds, well within eye-and-ear-shot of each other, and they were prepping my arm. Within 30 minutes, the Captain’s hurts seen to and Doctor McCoy resting as comfortably as was possible, I lay back and entered a healing trance. 

When I woke, Doctor McCoy was still sleeping. The Captain was sitting in a chair between his bed and mine, watching the Doctor. And I knew the look on his face.

“What troubles you, Jim?”

The Captain smiled at me and moved over, allowing me to get off the bed and stand near McCoy’s. “I was thinking of the choice you made, and of an old earth quote.” 

I thought back to my hatred of that choice, when the roof was falling in. And yet logic told me there had been no other. “I could not have made another choice, Jim. And the Doctor, I think, knew that.”

“Because for you, it was not a choice.” He sighed, before moving forward to check one of the readouts above the Doctor. “No more than there would have been for me, between a crewman and the  _ Enterprise _ when fully staffed.”

“We all have that first allegiance,” I agreed. “What was the Earth quote you were thinking of?”

The Captain smiled, turning towards me. “I don’t remember all of it. Just someone singing, ‘You have no control over who lives, who dies’...and something else, I can’t remember the rest.”*

“And who tells your story,” a voice rasped, and both of us turned back towards the Doctor. “It’s an old Earth musical. ‘You have no control over who lives, who dies, and who tells your story.’ How the blazes did I get here?”

“The roof caved in, and Scotty got us out. You’re safe, Bones.” 

“‘Bout time.” The Doctor pushed himself up on his elbows and glared at both of us. “How hurt did you idiots get, before we got out?”

“Minimal injuries, Doctor,” I put in. I doubted provoking an argument would leave him with the energy to stay awake for long, and Jim needed the reassurance of seeing him move, hearing him speak. “Both of us are well rested and fully healed.” The Doctor sank back, running his eyes over both of us. 

“Seems you did. Well, that story’s finished, anyhow, and I can’t say I'm sad to end it.”

The Captain grinned, looking from the Doctor to myself. “Then shall we go on to the next chapter, gentleman?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *From the musical Hamilton, which I have never seen but really want to.


End file.
